Mourning
by OppositeSpectrum
Summary: Matt's life was almost perfect. Total perfection was within his grasp, but one day destroyed it all. How does he cope? Deal with his mourning? Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Hello hello,  
A few years ago I came up with this story but when I moved schools it got lost in the mail. I utterly loved it so started to rewrite it from memory, initially this story didn't have any DN characters in it but they just kind of... fit. I view this story as romantic but I'm not sure if you guys will. Maybe my mind is just warped *shrugs*

**Warnings: **Character death. There will be mentions of boyXboy love but nothing too serious. Also there are drug references, poverty, some thoughts on mental diseases and possible self harm later on.

My warnings seem kind of dire but rest assured the ending is bittersweet (:

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The red and orange flames of the fire lick the sides of the charred brick fireplace while tiny flecks of golden dust dance and swirl in the air, finally settling on the bare floor to become glowing embers. As the warmth seeps across the room and envelopes me I stare deeply at the small display of comfort. I stare without seeing. I cannot see the flames fighting each other until they all lose and turn to ash, their eternal war. I cannot even see the poorly lit room within I sit.

What I see is my childhood.

I once lived in the countryside where the houses gave way to rolling hills. I would always watch the sunset from my room on the second story of, what many would call our mansion. You see my adoptive parents were both of very wealthy families, my father a successful businessman. We had a chef and a maid, everything that I needed was in my very own room and all other things where within reach in the future. My most highly regarded possession was my little PSP. It was black and I had every game under the sun to play on it.

My older brother, Mello, was 14 and he was beautiful, pale blonde hair that hung delicately to his thin shoulders, a slender frame coated in nimble muscles and his ice blue eyes that could cut through your very soul. I'll tell you one thing; you could not lie to those eyes. People had always told me that we looked like opposites. You couldn't call it surprising because we weren't related and Mello looked like a fallen angel whereas I was scrawny with burning red hair and mossy green eyes. My Mello didn't smile often, except at me. Most of the time a sour looking smirk preoccupied his face making him seem malicious, which wasn't the case. Mello doted on me more than anyone else, probably because I wasn't Mother and Father's true child and they went away so often. It's not like I cared, as long as I could keep Mello smiling.

One afternoon Mel and I had climbed the massive elk tree right down the bottom of the hill; you couldn't even see the house from there. I remember wanting my PSP, but I didn't want to get it myself. I whined at Mello until he offered to go get it for me like I knew he would. He swung off a low branch and landed on his feet like he had practised it a thousand times. I got bored waiting for him to return so I played with some of the dead leaves. It was autumn. Then I almost fell out of the tree because I'd heard this noise, a distant scream and crackle. I'm not sure if it was just an echo or if _he _kept screaming.

Regardless I ran to the top of the hill, to the house, at top speed. Out of breath I looked up and saw the house being engulfed in flames. Most of the first floor had been blackened but the screaming continued..._From where though?_ My bedroom. Of course my window was locked, Father didn't like the thought of someone sneaking into my room, but it didn't stop _him _trying to get out though. What was I doing? My Mello was being burnt alive in my room where _I_ had sent him and I just stood there watching! He screamed my name a lot, down from my window to me. "**Matt, MATT**!!" over and over again while banging frantically on the glass. I can't remember when it stopped.

Mother came home... later. She called the ambulance, police and fire brigade. I wanted to tell her it was pointless but I couldn't find my tongue. I just stood there with silent tears rolling down my cheeks like tiny waterfalls. Mother was hysterical; apparently Daddy had been home as well. She tried his cell phone and I swear I could hear a tiny pathetic ringing from inside. The house had collapsed. That's about the time all the cars with sirens arrived. For some reason they wrapped me in a blanket... I don't know why because the 'house' was making me feel too hot.

What remained of the fire was doused, the wreckage was moved as much as possible and the ambulance officers treated Mum and I for 'shock' because, well, they couldn't do anything for the **rest** of the family. They were dead, Mello because of me. All my fault. Because I couldn't be bothered to get my PSP myself. I didn't speak for a long time after that. I got lost in my own world of blonde tresses and forgiving smiles.

Nightmares. All the time. I never would have thought that you could dream whilst you were awake but the following weeks proved me very wrong. The dream was always the same. I would stare up at my room until there was just a burning skeleton, but the skeleton could still scream, without a tongue or lungs I don't know how. Then just when I couldn't handle anymore the dream got worse, everything around me would crumble leaving me by myself in the dark and I can't wake up. Mello always gave me hugs when I had a nightmare, where were my hugs now?

Fast forward a couple of weeks and we arrive at the funeral. Big and black and too fancy for my tastes, death isn't big, black or fancy like people say, I think that's just romanticism. Mel wouldn't have liked it. Mother went inside the funeral home to identify Daddy and Mello. I was quite a clever child, not bragging-all true, so I decided to sneak around to where the bins were, climbed up on one and look through the conveniently placed, yet mouldy, window. I'm still confused to this day about what I saw then, Mum wasn't looking at my family. She was looking at two too fancy coffins encasing lumps of a charcoal fleshy, meat with irregular lookin' bones sticking out here and there. I mean, what's the point in that? I climbed the bins to catch one last glimpse of my Mello, not their coffins stuffed with burnt dog food.

There were so many people I didn't know at the funeral, I didn't like it. They were grieving over people they didn't care about. Maybe it was the music? Funeral music is always sad. I wanted to get away, get away from the people in black converging on me and apologising, I didn't want them. I wanted my hugs. As much as I tried to escape Mother always caught me and dragged me back to the 'procession'. I hated them, I hated their swarming and trying to drown me in their sea of black, it reminded me of leather, but their black wasn't comforting like that, it smelt like hospitals. When everyone left there was just me by the graves, I know Mello would have wanted to be cremated but I was just a 'confused child' so no one listened to me.

With no one around my cascade of tears crashed to the ground and my fingernails tore at the ground next to his grave. The sobs were shaking me so much that I couldn't see but I knew my blood and the dirt were mixing together into a concoction of my misery. Once the hole was deep enough I took out my most revered possession that I currently owned- my PSP. I shoved it roughly into the hole. I never wanted to see that technology again. It had ruined everything. My hands reburied it and then I curled up, shifting onto Mello's grave. It was the closest I could get to him now. Maybe it was fanciful thinking but I could imagine my tears soaking down to 6 feet under, giving him the last bit of love in my body. My heart did not break or go missing or stop beating because that's impossible. Besides love supposedly originates in the brain, but then again, not everything can be explained by science. I did realise though at that moment there was no reason for me to have a heart anymore.

I stayed out there for hours with Mello until Mother found me and dragged me away, saying I was being 'disrespectful'. Nothing was right from that point on. Mother bought a generic conventional home for the time in England, rough earthen stones and arched doors that were concealing and intensifying the things that watched me from the shadows. I knew that the place was unfriendly but as usual Mother didn't listen to me. She was always drinking red wine, she said it was because I had red hair and she wanted to drink me in, I guess it was true in a way because with every glass Mother drank the more I ebbed away and forgot myself.

There was one good thing about where we lived; the graveyard was fifteen minutes away. Whenever one of my Mother's boyfriends got wasted and pushed himself onto me I showered, letting the blood and bodily fluids swirl down the drain. I scrubbed my skin raw until it was pink all over and then I stayed under the deluge of glacial water for an impossible amount of time, I had to be cleansed before visiting Mello. I didn't want him to find out what those men did to me. He'd get mad because we both knew he should have been the one touching me, protecting me. Most nights I slept on top of his grave, if I could stand the weather, where it was safe from the world.

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**AN: **Eep I'm sorry, please don't hate me.  
Also if you think that any of Matt's thoughts seem... strange, I probably intended it that way. All will become clear later on, pinky promise.

If you liked it and think I should carry on I'd love alerts or reviews (:

OppositeSpectre


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Its taken forever for me to update, I know and I'm sorry!  
I've been busy updating my other fic.

Kinda disappointed that this story isn't so popular but I'll continue anyway because I adore this story no matter what.  
So this chapter is for myself and Atreyl (and anyone else who reads it *crosses fingers*)

**Disclaimed BAMM**

Enjoy (:

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As time passed I came to realise that Mother knew what her boyfriends did to me but the red wine stopped her from being 'Mother', now she was just the woman I lived with. I never spoke out about my home life at school. The teachers worried about me I guess but they couldn't do shit without confirmation. Friends? There were none because I was incapable of caring about anyone and it would be unfair to pursue any type of relationship when I wouldn't really be a part of it. My mind was six feet under, there was no point denying that fact.

By the time I was 15, I'd learnt that saying no or fighting Mother's 'boyfriends' only resulted in cracked ribs or a bruised stomach. I didn't have the strength to fight anymore. Maybe I deserved it. A never ending torture because of a mistake I'll regret for eternity. As soon as it reached dusk I had to get out of the house every night because the shadows grew and whatever watched me could move freely, I didn't want them to get me. The only person I spoke to at all was the owner of the funeral home and graveyard, his name was Watari and he had a kind face. Somehow he reminded me of a grandfather I had never know, the bushy eyebrows and moustache, the creased skin and the crinkly eyes that showed he smiled a lot. Sometimes Watari would leave a blanket and milk by Mello's tombstone for me.

At the age of 16 I ran away from home with nowhere to go. So naturally I went to the graveyard. Mother never came looking for me and I'm glad because she wouldn't drag me back to that house out of love, no, it would be for obligation. The weather grew colder and I couldn't stand to be outside at night unless I wished to freeze so I found an abandoned house, this abandoned house, to sleep in out of the harsh winds and torrents of snow.

That brings us full circle back to now, nothing much has happened to change my routine in the past year. I bought a pair of goggles with the money I had, they blur reality for me and glaze everything in a comforting golden light. When my pride lets me I go to the local homeless shelter to get supplies and whatever money I get ends up going towards booze and weed, it's not how you think, I don't do it to escape my life- I do it to make my life numb and meaningless because that's all it's worth to me. The flames flicker but continue to burn strongly through the night, trying to warm my chilled heart.

A young boy who is as white as a ghost and delivers newspapers stands out the front of a derelict grey stone house. The thatched roofing is falling apart, the mortar falling from cracks and every window shattered letting in the drifting snow. The boy stares through a window and sees a man (is it a man or merely an older boy?) crouched in front of an empty fireplace. This person doesn't move at all in the five minutes he is watched, dressed in stripes like a convict and wearing goggles. For some unknown reason the sight frightened and saddened the newspaper deliverer, reminding him of The Little Matchstick Girl, making him twirl his ashen locks anxiously.

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It finally became morning so I scrambled up of the floor, trying to rid the kink that seems permanently lodged in my neck. My only pair of clothes are thin and ratty by now but I've grown accustomed to the cold of winter. I stumble outside intent on scrounging some change from passersby and going to the homeless shelter for lunch. Walking down the streets I barely notice people veering to the other side of the road to avoid me. I can only imagine how they feel because it seems that this life I'm living now is all that I've ever had. Everything before now is a nightmare with a hint of a dream, the dream that I cling to with obsessive tenacity.

I'm headed towards the local shops where I'm known by appearance, not by name. If I paid attention I might be able to recognise some of my regular donors but their faces blur. I sit outside the door to the largest supermarket with my well used tin can. Occasionally the tinkle of coins catches my attention for a split second and I mutter, "Cigarettes?"

One person drops two cancer sticks in my tin. I've accumulated £3 this morning, as good as it gets. My next stop on my methodical journey is the park with the fountain. Sometimes the old people take pity on me. The park is very crowded today. I head to the one remaining bench when I notice that it's covered in pigeon poo. I do really hate that! Honestly, if the old people didn't feed the pigeons at the park they wouldn't crap on the benches would they? Besides ducks are much better, more appealing than pigeons and they don't poo where I want to sit. Some days like today I contemplate going over to all those old people and forcing my opinion on them, probably with a few too many four letter words than their liking but I don't want to cause trouble. Heck if feeding stupid pigeons got rid of my problems I would buy some as pets. It's strange how daily irritations get more of a reaction from me than most aspects of life.

From going to the park I gain two sandwiches and a few notes that I can't be bothered to count. This money and food should last me four day at least. I reach the homeless shelter just before lunch. I eat the stew they hand me on my table, no one ever comes to join me, they've all learnt by now. Before up and leaving I check the donations room to see if they have anything I need. I pick up a tan vest and a thick blanket. On the way home I wrap the blanket over my shoulders before depositing it on my floor. Surely anyone could steal it from my 'house' but most people are afraid of disease or that it's riddled with needles. I pull the fluffy vest over my head. I don't have enough money to go see my dealer or to buy alcohol so I finally get to go. I get to go for hours and hours.

It's changed a lot in a year, there are flowers growing from the soil. I took the seedlings from people's front yards and planted them here. The tombstone is still shiny granite, the engravings clear. Mello's resting place looks beautiful in comparison to all the others, it's interesting, different- just like he _is._ Watari looks out upon us and I can tell he's contemplating coming to see me. About once a week he would come for a talk and I would use up all of my social skills. Of course Watari knew the boundaries, he could not mention Mello, nor touch anything on or surrounding his tombstone, it makes me very agitated. His moustache would curl up slightly at the sides, his eyes would warm and I'd feel... comfortable for a change. Not happy, comfortable.

Funny thing is that I've considered suicide, it'd be the simplest option, like going to sleep, but I can't bring myself to do it because of a dead friend/love. I figured that because if I had died I couldn't stand the thought of Mello killing himself. Ironic how the reason why I've stopped living is also the only reason I stay alive. The night is setting in, has it been 6 hours already? I should buy some candles or sometime, that way I could stay out later. I trudge back through the streets that are lit by lamps although I wouldn't need them after the amount of times I've spent wandering. But now is not the time for wandering, I want to go to my house and have my dinner then curl up in my blanket. My dreams and nightmares still haven't changed.

When I step through the arched doorway I immediately devour my tea, half of a cheese sandwich I scrounged at the park. I shake the snow from my hair and pull my goggles off my eyes to hang around my neck. The plaid blanket is warmer than I had first thought, it's unusual to feel this heat. It's almost like curling up next to someone, maybe if I believe it hard enough... That night I fall asleep with my face buried in Mello's hair and he curved around me protectively.

_"Matt." _

_"Mello? You're back?" _

_"No, I'm not back. You know I'm gone but you can come to me." _

_"Please I'll... I'll do anything, just please, even for a day?" _

_"Matt it's not possible. Don't cry." _

_"I'm s-sorry, I didn't want it to hap-pen. If I could go back... I miss you." _

_"I know, I miss you too... and Matt I love you." And then he disappeared. _

_"I love you Mello. Come back, please. Don't leave me again...No."_ _I'm left alone in the blackness... again. _

I woke up with rain trickling down my face.

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AN: Awww the ending still gets to me even though I wrote this a while ago.  
This is the last of my pre-written chapters so updates wont exactly be quick but I'll try my best (=

I do love me some Mello and Matt.  
Please review?

Thanks for reading,  
OppositeSpectre xx


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